


Unsuspecting

by Icarus_Flying_Not_Falling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (yay), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But will be happy in the end, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grantaire is secretly sadder than others in Les Amis think, Happy Ending, He gets better, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry for this, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Romance, Sexual Assault, it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7298617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_Flying_Not_Falling/pseuds/Icarus_Flying_Not_Falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire sits at the back of Les Amis meetings, cynical and scathing of Enjolras's ideals. While Enjolras is angered by Grantaire's behaviour, he doesn't know the reason behind it.</p><p>Grantaire is in serious need of help and his friends, when they find out why, are there for him. Also a lil love coz he needs love.</p><p>Comments would be super appreciated  (thanks gang)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Right so this chapter is pretty grim. The rest of the story hopefully isn't this upsetting or anything. I say hopefully...it might still happen. The events of this chapter are based off something that happened to me. 
> 
> Sorry for the poor writing quality 
> 
> Feedback would be great, love you all xx

Grantaire was exhausted. Most of the previous night, he had stayed awake, in a frenzy of artistic vision. And now, here he was; at a celebration of family friends arriving. Not even his family friends; a friend of his parents' family friends. The whole concept felt too confusing for Grantaire to think much of, so he had allowed himself to be dragged along at his mother's insistence. Several hugs and introductions later, Grantaire found himself alone. The whole event was held at the local community hall, the inside crowded and stuffy, lacking in food and music and everything that makes such events tolerable. Most of the people Grantaire found himself surrounded by were his parents' age, and none willing to join a nineteen year old in conversation. Panning his eyes around the room, Grantaire saw the door, open and mercifully leading to freedom. Slipping through the crowds of people, Grantaire sighed in satisfaction as the cold wind hit his face as he walked out into the night. 

 

Finding a nice, quiet seat on the wire fence outside the community hall, Grantaire wrapped his jacket around himself tightly, attempting to shut out the cold. Pulling his tattered sketchbook from his rucksack, he contentedly drew figures he'd seen at the event inside, squinting in the low lighting. The bright laughter in a grandmother's eyes, the disapproval in the set of his father's mouth, the twirl of a skirt...Grantaire was sucked into his drawing, nearly hypnotized. A cough broke him out of his revelry.

 

He looked up, alarmed. A boy, a few years older than him stood on the the ground next to Grantaire's seat on the fence. He relaxed slightly, and put his sketchbook back in his bag.

"Hey man! Long time no see." The boy said enthusiastically.

"Um, I'm sorry...do I know you?" Grantaire asked, not wanting to seem rude but not recognizing the other boy for the life of him.

"You should know me! I went to your high school. I'm Tholomyes?"

The name did not strike Grantaire as familiar; but he must admit that he never payed much attention to the people around him at high school past Les Amis De L'ABC, social activits and his beloved friends. He smiled slightly.

"Ah, I'm afraid the name doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure you have the right person? Maybe it was another person who looks like me."

"Well, let's find out! What's your name?" The other boy, with messy blonde hair declared.

Grantaire gave his name, and the other boy began nodding.

"Yes, it is definitely you. No mistake. God I miss the old days of high school, don't you?"

Grantaire did not, in fact, miss the old days of high school. He felt something on his leg, and looked down. This other boy, 'Tholomyes' had placed his hand high up on Grantaire's thigh, moving it higher and higher. Grantaire shifted uncomfortably under the charming smile the other man was presenting him. 

When the hand reached just below the junction between Grantaire's leg, he jumped in alarm and found himself falling off the fence, landing on the other side of the fence from Tholomyes. He groaned at the pain in his side from falling, and lay still for a moment. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Tholomyes had climbed over the fence and was standing over him. Grantaire staggered to his feet and took a step back. Tholomyes grinned at him, now seeming more menacing than friendly and called out, "Hey boys, we got some entertainment! Meet Grantaire!" 

 

With these words, a group of maybe ten other boys materialized from the darkness around him. Grantaire, starting to panic a bit more, pushed through the group and began running. The leader called out for the others to get him, and his brain shut down, adrenaline pumping through his body. The footsteps and calls still rang out, and some part of his mind wondered why no one inside the hall was hearing this. He found himself hurdling over the fence on the other side of the community hall and caught sight of a playground. Sprinting towards it, he leaped onto the platform and curled his body into a small ball, out of view. The footsteps paused momentarily, their target nowhere to be seen. The strong voice of the leader cut through shouting "Split up, and fucking find him!"

 

The voice caused Grantaire to shudder, terrified. Louder footsteps made Grantaire shudder even more. He could feel the vibrations of the steps on the playground, getting nearer and nearer. He was about to be discovered any second now. Taking action first, Grantaire sprang up and leaped from the playground, messily landing on the ground and feeling his knees buckle slightly in the pain of his landing. More shouts were heard of "we find him!" and "don't lose him!" and he felt strong arms grab at his hair, his waist, his arms and his clothes. Pushing past all of them, he ran towards the entrance of the community hall. It was in sight. He was so close. And then he saw them. Several of the boys involved in chasing him were standing, seemingly casually around the entrance to the hall. He was cut off from his parents, from shelter, from safety. Changing his course, he leaped up against a large tree. Clumsily scaling it, he tried to keep his breathing quiet and slow, ignoring the beating of his heart and the need for his breath to get faster and faster. This time his hiding spot seemed to work. The footsteps raced past him and this time did not stop. 

 

Grantaire is not sure how much time he spent in the tree. He had managed to calm himself, and had planned his next move. He could hear the boys who had chased him, now sitting around the corner discussing sport. Silently, Grantaire slipped from the tree and snuck the opposite direction from the voices. The voices were on the side of the hall that had the entrance, so Grantaire was stuck outside for now. He found himself on the oval, nearly pitch black in the cloudy night. Slinking out onto the oval, Grantaire found what appeared to be the darkest patch of grass on the oval and lay, flat on it. He found it peaceful to simply lie on the ground and think. He hummed softly to himself, deeming it safe enough to make such a slight noise. Then he heard the laughter. 

 

It was innocent laughter, nothing like the menacing laughter he had heard before. And yet, looking up, it was the same people. They were running out onto the oval, throwing and kicking a football to each other, not noticing they were running in the direction of Grantaire. They stopped, thankfully, before reaching Grantaire, and he held his breath, praying he was not about to be noticed. The kicking and running around continued a little longer, and Grantaire allowed himself to relax somewhat, feeling less in danger than before. Then one kick went off target. The ball bounced off the ground, landing right before Grantaire. The laughter got closer as the leader, Tholomyes, ran to get the ball, the others heckling him. As he turned to face the ball, his eyes locked with Grantaire's. A grin stretched across his face. 

 

"Hey boys, you'll never guess what I just found." He called out over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact with Grantaire, who lay frozen on his stomach on the ground. Tholomyes moved closer and Grantaire still couldn't move. Terror had turned him into a statue. Only when Tholomyes had draped hims body over Grantaire's; the warmth of his body pressing into Grantaire's back, did Grantaire manage to unfreeze. He pushed upward, forcing Tholomyes off of him. When he managed to stagger to his feet, he saw a wall of flesh. Turning in a complete circle, he saw the boys had trapped him in a circle, Tholomyes standing in the middle with him, holding his arms out and bowing mockingly. He tried to push himself through the crowd, but arms dragged him back, holding him still.  
New hands, larger than the others traced over his body, caressing his face, neck, chest, going lower and lower until..."No!" Grantaire cried out. One of the hands that had been carefully caressing him gripped his jaw, squeezing it menacingly. Now the other hands holding him began to wander, grabbing, stroking, pinching him all over. Tholomyes leaned in menacingly, squeezing his jaw even tighter, causing Grantaire to groan in pain. 

 

"Listen here sweetheart. You aren't gonna make any more noise, you here me? There'll be even more trouble if you do. And we wouldn't want to hurt such a pretty thing as you."  
Tholomyes's face was inches away from Grantaire's, a mixture of sickening playfulness and fury clear on his face. Grantaire nodded fearfully, and Tholomyes sighed in relief. "That's a good boy."

Leaning even closer to Grantaire, he licked a long stripe down his cheek. Grantaire felt many of the hands let him go, replaced by a solid body crowding against him from his back. Tholomyes pressed himself against Grantaire's front, and he can feel both men's erections pressing against him. The two of them began to move, Tholomyes's hands on Grantaire's waist, firmly keeping him in place. Both men release breathy moans in Grantaire's ears, then Tholomyes pauses a moment. He leans back and pouts at Grantaire. 

"Aww baby, don't be like that. No need to be upset. Don't cry! You'll like this. I know you will. Come on, don't act like you don't want this to happen. Stop those tears, okay?" 

He kissed beneath Grantaire's left eye, a hand wiping the tears from beneath his right eye. The hand, in appearance delicate, pressed hard against his cheekbone, and Grantaire could feel that would bruise. The other boys shouted out suggestions of what Tholomyes should do, and the leader grinned, nodding along encouragingly. The other boys stood back, giving space to their leader. The relative freedom gave Grantaire an idea of escape. He turned and ran to the edge of the group, only to be pulled back and thrown to the ground by Tholomyes. The leader looked down at him with cold eyes and kicked him in the ribs, again and again, causing a searing pain to shoot along Grantaire's side. The boy sat on Grantaire's abdomen, swiftly pulling Grantaire's shirt up and pulling his bag over his head, throwing it aside. Grantaire struggled uselessly, but stopped abruptly as Tholomyes leveled a knife with his exposed stomach. 

The first cut was excruciating and from the angles of the cuts that followed, Grantaire could tell a word was being carved into his flesh. He began to cry out, but Tholomyes, expecting such a response, covered his mouth with his free hand. When he had finished with the knife, he handed it to one of the other men, and lay down completely covering Grantaire. The prone man beneath him sobbed silently in pain and terror and despair as the other man began to grind on him again, whispering to Grantaire what he wanted to do to him. He couldn't get free. Kisses were trailed down his throat, slobbery and disgusting. Hands crept down his body, skipping his bloodied stomach and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down, and groping at his crotch. Grantaire whimpered at the unwanted contact, but did nothing more, frozen now in pain as well as terror. 

 

The sound of someone speaking over a microphone broke the nightmare Grantaire was trapped in. Tholomyes and his friends looked up and listened intently to the announcement. "Okay everyone, thanks so much for coming here tonight! I need everyone inside now, get ready to dance!" It was the host of the night inside the hall. The others all looked at each other, disgruntled. Tholomyes stood up, straightening his blue jacket and calling the others to follow him. Someone would notice if they didn't show up inside. Their parents would search for them. As they passed, they groped Grantaire one last time, muttering crudely at him. And then he was left alone. He fumbled to pull his pants back up, and turned on his side, sobbing. 

After ten minutes of not moving from this position, he slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his whole body. Standing up, he gathered himself, and walked into the community hall where his parents would be expecting him. They smiled when they saw him, oblivious to his state, and hugged him, unable to see the bloodstain on his shirt that was hidden beneath his jacket. For the rest of the night, the occasional hand would reach out of the crowd and slap his arse, or he'd see a wink thrown his way, but he stayed close to his parents. At the end of the night, when the three of them walked to the car, his mother commented on what lovely young men there seemed to be there. Grantaire nearly burst into tears at the thought of the other young men present that night, but he said nothing.

 

When he arrived home, he went straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Stripping off his jacket, he gingerly lifted his shirt to reveal the still bleeding cuts on his stomach. "FAG" was written in a jagged font in large letters. Fresh tears sprang into his eyes and the words whispered to him throughout the night rang in his head. Stepping into the shower, Grantaire shut his eyes and let the scorching water race across his skin. Only then did he remember his sketchbook; his prized possession full of his proudest works, had been left behind in his bag probably still on the oval or in the hands of one of the men.


	2. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months on from the incident, Grantaire and Enjolras have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a filler chapter to be honest. 
> 
> Sorry ma gang...

Grantaire stared hollowly at his reflection. It had been three months since the incident and he still could not sleep well. He felt ridiculous; they hadn't even done much to him. It could have been worse. He had no right to be so effected by the incident. This thought crossed his mind frequently . And yet, here he was, after waking after only a few hours of sleep, sitting face to face with himself in his mirror. Looking away from himself in disgust, he set himself into an auto pilot state, getting dressed and brushing his teeth all the while staring ahead blankly. His parents were already at work, so no one was home to force him to eat anything. He had found eating difficult after the incident. He had found most things difficult after the incident. That had made keeping it a secret from his parents difficult, but then they had both taken on more work and he never saw them much anymore. Then he started university and soon he found himself in a cycle of isolation. This cycle, however, was made difficult by his group of friends. Les Amis De L'ABC.  
The group worked as social activists, helping all those in need. Grantaire did not believe the group could accomplish much, his past happy view of the world marred by the injustice of his treatment. And yet he returned to each meeting, hanging on the words of the leader, Enjolras. To say he was in love was perhaps a bit much, but in the years that they had known each other, Grantaire believed more and more in Enjolras, able to seem like a living person while he was present. In the presence of Enjolras, Grantaire became someone again. The fact that Grantaire threw snarky comments at every word Enjolras spoke did not help the matter, as Enjolras grew more dismissive of him and his words. This did not stop Grantaire returning though, for at least the attention of the glorious man could be given to the lowly and broken Grantaire.  
Today he had an early lecture to get to, and despite his depressive state, he did not want to disappoint his ever absent parents by failing. He disappointed Les Amis enough as it was. He left the house and wondered around the streets, making his way towards the university for his classics lecture. When he arrived, he checked his phone and groaned. The lecturer was ill, and the lecture had been cancelled. Making the most of his free time, he walked to the cafe on campus, deciding there was no harm in buying a coffee to give him just enough energy to survive the day. Entering the Cafe Musain, Grantaire sighed contentedly at the warm atmosphere and aroma. Such simple pleasures helped him function in day to day life. After ordering his coffee from the bouncy, friendly Musichetta, he waited idly for his order to arrive. When it did, he smiled and thanked her, who offered him an enthusiatic kiss on the cheek. Walking up the rickety wooden stairs that lead to the backroom of the cafe, he took a seat in his usual place in front of the bar. He had not touched alcohol after the incident. While he wasn't drunk at the time, the idea of being that vulnerable and exposed terrified him. He was so focused on his coffee that he did not notice someone was next to him until they tapped him on the shoulder. Spinning around, alarmed, Grantaire only caught the messy blonde hair and blue eyes before he was on the ground, knees buckled. When he looked up he saw the figure was only Enjolras, looking alarmed and concerned at Grantaire's unusual reaction. Grantaire bashfully clambered to his feet, and Enjolras points to his stomach. Looking down, Grantaire sees the spill of coffee across his shirt from when he fell. 

"Wow, thanks for the warning Enjolras." He snarked. Enjolras's expression became confused.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you would react like that. Here I can get you a new coffee and you can borrow my spare shirt."

It sounded like a fair deal and Grantaire accepted, needing Enjolras out of the room so he can collect himself. When he was sure Enjolras was downstairs, he stripped off the coffee stained shirt, using it to dry off his stomach. Staring at the word "FAG" brought so many memories as he wiped his shirt over the scars. Would it ever fade? Could he ever be able to face his full reflection in the mirror? These questions bounced around his head louder and louder. He didn't even notice how fast his breathing had gotten before he was fully hyperventilating, staring at the ugly scars. He didn't hear the footsteps walking up the stairs, but he was snapped out of his trance by the sound of a gasp. Turning in surprise to face the door, Grantaire saw Enjolras blushing and stammering apologies for having walked in on him shirtless. Still not looking at him, Enjolras picked a shirt out of his bag and tossed it to Grantaire. Grantaire had frozen at the arrival of Enjolras and now he fumbled for the shirt presented to him.  
"You can look, you know? I'm done." Grantaire said, trying to sound amused, but shaken at how close he gotten to being discovered by Enjolras.  
This must have shown on his face when Enjolras turns to look at him again. "Are you okay R? You're looking pale." Grantaire must have imagined the concern in his voice. 'He doesn't care about you. Not really. None of them do.' Grantaire told himself scathingly. Jerkily nodding in answer of Enjolras, he turned and made his way across the room again, sitting at his bench once more.  
Hesitantly, Enjolras crossed the room to sit next to Grantaire.  
"Are you sure you're alright?"  
"Enjolras. Leave it." Grantaire growled, voice trembling beneath the irritation.  
Before Enjolras could respond, a flash bounded across the room and looped it's arm around the two. The flash was Courfeyrac, his outfit complete with a yellow waistcoat and purple bow tie.  
At his surprise appearance and sudden physical contact, the already shaken Grantaire fell out of his chair for the second time that day. While Courfeyrac guffawed at what he deemed as clumsiness to rival that of Bossuet, Enjolras couldn't help but notice the shallow breathing and wide eyed expression Grantaire was displaying. He couldn't comment on either of these things as more of Les Amis filed into the room, laughing and chatting merrily to each other. Grantaire got to his feet and hugged Jehan as he came in, but now Enjolras was paying attention, he noticed how tense Grantaire was while hugging him. And then everyone was seated and Enjolras took center stage.  
"Okay so I need everyone to listen up. I got an email about a new issue we need to address. Someone pointed out that there hasn't been enough information provided for male sexual assault and rape victims. They suggested we could put together maybe a booklet or community program for this? I don't believe we've avoided the issue for so long, but now I look at it, I know we need to do this!" And just like that he was the fiery leader, champion of the people.  
Grantaire, while entranced by Enjolras's voice, felt like his stomach had fallen to the ground and his lungs constricted. He couldn't do this. Couldn't have this as the main discussion in his only group of friends for the next few months at least. He needed this to stop. Right now.  
"And so you think a few booklets will help out? An information night? You've cured them! Why don't you leave this to people who actually know how to professionally help those who are injured or mentally compromised? It doesn't have to be us every time! This would do fuck all for people who have been raped! A bunch of guys who've never had anything happen to them preaching will do jack shit!"  
He didn't dare look at Enjolras by the end of his rant. He stared at a point on the ground, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on him.  
"At least we're trying to help. You help no one with your cynicism and apathy. Just because you're too lazy to take action doesn't mean we won't. You believe in nothing, you fucking drunkard! But we want to actually do good by people." The anger in Enjolras's voice was toxic and Grantaire could feel himself shrink in fear. The voice, so angry and charming, reminded him of Tholomyes. For what he hoped was the final time today, Grantaire fell to the floor, knees buckling. Enjolras's anger changed instantly to concern and he took a step forward, ready to help Grantaire to his feet. He could see the others standing up too, nervous at Grantaire's reaction. As Enjolras took another step forward, he reached out his arm for Grantaire to take. Instead, he flinched violently and sprung to his feet, tearing out the room. Everyone looked at the empty doorway he had run through in concern, hoping their friend was alright and confused at how he had reacted.


	3. Caught Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras deals with acting stupidly and Les Amis discuss R. Also, the plans have begun for the execution of the anti-rape community program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story still warming up, it's been so long since I've written anything. 
> 
> Comments always appreciated xx

Enjolras cringed at the tension in the room, feeling the eyes of all his friends staring at him. "And what the fuck would you call that, Enjolras?" Joly asked in a deadly tone. The anger in his voice and frankly terrifying expression juxtaposed oddly with his lime green singlet complete with dinosaur cartoon, and eccentrically patterned tights hanging off his frail frame. He brandished his cane at Enjolras.   
"I said, what the fuck was that? So he doesn't agree with you, doesn't mean you can treat him like shit!"   
Enjolras sighed, flopping into a chair.   
"I know, okay! I fucked up. I'll wait for him to calm down then I'll apologize. It just frustrates me that he can't see such an important issue as that as good enough to spend time on."   
Combeferre took over this time, sitting with Courfeyrac practically lying in his lap. Combeferre managed to look quite dignified for someone in such a position, used to his boyfriend's ridiculous antics.   
"Well Enjolras, I'm not sure if you heard what he said; but he never said it wasn't important enough. He said that we aren't the right people to help in this issue, and it might create more problems than it fixes. And he's right. We aren't professionals and don't have the qualifications that could help make people's emotional states improved. I'm not saying we need to give up on this idea, just need to be careful how we execute it."

His calm voice cut through Enjolras's anger and he looked down, ashamed and making a mental note to apologize as soon as he could. Seeing the message had gotten through to their leader, everyone's looks shifted back to concern at the behaviour of their resident cynic.  
"Does anyone know what was wrong with R?" Jehan piped up, fiddling with a strawberry blonde lock of hair. Everyone glanced around and shook their heads.   
"He's been acting oddly in recent times. Refuses to come boxing anymore with me. Feuilly told me he's quit swimming too. And Bossuet, you said he isn't showing up to yoga?" Bahorel replied, worry lacing each word. Bossuet took up the momentum and added his thoughts.  
"Yeah, not for a few months now. Keeps saying he's busy. And Courfeyrac, Cosette and Eponine haven't seen him at dancing. Is he still painting?" At this Jehan commented.  
"Oh yeah, he paints a lot more now. It seems like really dark stuff though. Even his paintings of..." Jehan trailed off, looking pointedly at Enjolras before continuing, "and you all know how those paintings are usually so bright. They're quite morbid to write poetry about."  
Cosette, who had been silent this whole time whispered "And it should be noted, since no one else has thought to bring it up, that R stopped drinking."  
Everyone stared at her, shocked.   
"What, you didn't notice? How could you not notice?! Musichetta and I picked up on it. He has been sober for three months now. I've been counting. I'm ashamed none of you have noticed and supported him." Everyone went red at this, while Musichetta nodded and fondly ruffled the hair of her two oblivious boyfriends, Bossuet and Joly. Enjolras looked dismal. Not only had he been cruel to Grantaire, he wasn't even accurate in what he said. 

It was Feuilly who broke the tense silence. "Well, for the time being, how about we discuss the new project. Put more thought into it. Delegate tasks maybe? I have work soon."  
There was a general air of agreement, so Enjolras reluctantly got to his feet once more, taking his place in the center of the room.  
The discussion was surprisingly simple. Ideas were bounced around and were either rejected or approved. A list was compiled with copies sent to everyone so that their roles were clear in the proceedings. It consisted of the following:  
Self Defense: Bahorel, Grantaire, Eponine  
Awareness: all  
Interviews with Victims: all  
Posters: Feuilly, Grantaire, Jehan  
Information booklets: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras

 

After this, the meeting disbanded and everyone soon left, caught up in their own thoughts. Enjolras decided it was time to face Grantaire, before he scared himself out of apologizing. He hadn't been to Grantaire's house many times, mostly it was just to collect posters for protests, but the path to his house was familiar enough to not cause much hardship. As he approached the dwelling, he ran through all the possible ways he could express his regret at every word he had spoken. How proud he was of R for having given up drinking. How sorry he was for not noticing or supporting him. How he wished he could take back his harsh words. All of these thoughts came to a halt when he reached the front door and could hear the muffled sound of someone sobbing. Panicked, he twisted the door handle and sighed in relief when he discovered the door to be unlocked. Grantaire was curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing hysterically. The sight was heartbreaking, even to Enjolras, with his supposed marble heart. Rushing across the room, he floundered for what to do, remembering Grantaire's reactions to being touched that day. He settled with gently shaking his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly and look up, eyes bloodshot. When he saw who it was, he hurriedly wiped his eyes, mumbling.  
"Oh Apollo, wasn't expecting you." He began to stand up, but Enjolras lay his hand on his forearm, pausing him.  
"You don't need to keep it all built up. Cry. Let it all out. I'm often told I am not good with emotions, but I do realize it is damaging to keep them hidden."  
These words were all it took for Grantaire to launch himself into Enjolras's arms, sobbing and desperately clutching at the golden haired leader. Unsure of what to do, Enjolras gently wrapped his arms around the cynic, letting the tears stain his shirt. 

 

It took Grantaire around ten minutes to compose himself, exhausted from the crying. He let his eyes slide shut and his breathing evened out. He had fallen asleep. Enjolras gathered the cynic in his arms and picked him up. As he carried Grantaire to wear he suspected his bedroom to be, he couldn't help but notice how thin he artist was. How much was he eating? No one should be that thin, surely. Brushing those concerns aside for the time being, he managed to nudge open the door to Grantaire's room. The room was a mess of paints and canvases, stacks of books filling every gap in the art supplies. It was impossible for him not to notice that a considerable number of the paintings had him as the focus. Him midway through giving a speech, his smile caught and preserved on canvas, the fistfight he got into with a homophobe at the last protest, that time he got arrested for getting into said fight with homophobe. He smiled at the memories, but his brow creased as he saw the newer artwork, still drying. Blonde hair and blue eyes flashing through darkness and swirls of dramatic colours. Power hungry eyes staring through the canvas. They made Enjolras shiver in discomfort, and looked so much like twisted versions of his own features. Surely Grantaire could not think so poorly of him? As he stared at one of the paintings, suddenly he wasn't so sure. Carefully setting Grantaire down in his bed, pulling his covers over him, he cast one last glance around the room before sighing and heading out into the living room. He would not leave until he was sure Grantaire was fine and he himself had apologized for everything and try to redeem himself. He settled on the couch and brought out a notepad, ready to write down every thought he had on the matter until Grantaire woke up. He had a lot to get done in that time. Putting pen to paper, he began to write.


	4. Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjy start communicating and sorting their shit out together. Meanwhile, Bahorel finds what looks like R's sketchbook...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty slow moving here, sorry about that.
> 
> Comments would be great xx

It was a shockingly short amount of time that Enjolras had to plan. A mere three hours after he had set Grantaire down on his bed to rest, the cynic woke up shaking and crying. Enjolras saw none of this from his seat in the living room, still frantically scribbling. Grantaire groaned, rolling off his bed and onto the floor, then slowly - oh so slowly - dragging himself to his feet and to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. He paused on his way however, as he heard the sound of a pen in the living room. He knew it couldn't be his parents, they were off on work trips and wouldn't be back for another month. Poking his head around the corner of the living room, he sighed in relief at the image of Enjolras hunched over a pad of paper, writing with a fervour and desperation Grantaire felt entranced by. As if sensing his presence, Enjolras looked up and apologetically smiled.  
"Sorry I'm still intruding. I just really needed to talk to you and make sure you were okay."  
Grantaire felt tongue tied, choosing to nod dumbly rather than attempt a reply. Enjolras gestured for him to take the seat on the couch, which Grantaire accepted only to find that it brought him only a few inches from the leader. His heart pounded in his chest. 'Surely he's figured it out. He knows I love him. He knows I'm worth nothing. Now he's gonna reject me and try to be nice about it, I can't deal with this now.' The thoughts bounced around Grantaire's head but he still said nothing, which Enjolras took as a sign to commence his impromptu speech.   
"So first off I want to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn't have said what I said and it was unfair of me to expect you to think the same way as me. I can't say I agree with your opinion, but I do understand that everyone is entitled to different opinions. I hope you can forgive me for that display yesterday. Nothing I said was worth anything. I found out you quit drinking, so I am so sorry for that comment in particular. All I said was out of line."  
During this speech, Grantaire had unfrozen and now he smiled at Enjolras weakly.   
"Hey Apollo, it's okay. You didn't say anything that wasn't true anyway."  
At this Enjolras went a peculiar shade of red.  
"No! You cannot say that! It is in no way true. I was an idiot, I didn't think and it is in no way true."  
Grantaire just nodded dumbly once more. Enjolras smiled widely at him, reaching across to pat the artist's shoulder. His smile melted as Grantaire flinched from his touch, jumping to his feet and backing away. Enjolras rose, concerned. Grantaire straightened himself and gave a smile that looked ready to crack at any second.   
"Don't worry Apollo, I'm all good. Just startled me is all."  
Although doubtful, Enjolras nodded and looked around him. "I suppose I had better go, I have a lot to prepare for the new project. Could you try and get started to? The self defense course starts next week, and all the other projects the week after. We need those posters as soon as possible. That okay?"  
Grantaire gave a noise of assent that was in stark contrast to his suddenly pale face. Enjolras knew better than to comment on his reaction so instead just gave a grateful grunt and made his way to the front door. Giving a final call of goodbye to Grantaire and a wave, he shut the door behind him and made his way down the road. Back inside the house Grantaire put his head in his hands, lost.   
Bahorel was walking down the road from the cafe Musain, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His bulky frame threw a huge shadow onto the pavement, bringing people to move out of his path rapidly. He wasn't intentionally scaring people, his normal behaviour just seems to have that sort of effect. Looking around the street, he took in every individual he walked past. Many suspected someone as large and muscular as him must not be particularly intelligent, but the man had a natural talent for observations and his memory was matched in their group only by Combeferre. Most people on the street were dull. A dancer coming home from an audition, a nurse leaving to go to his late night shift, a fellow boxer getting fired up for his first round of the night. What caught his eye was the group of young men. Particularly the item one member of the group held in their hands. It was a sketchbook. An extremely tatty sketchbook with the same personalized cover he remembered drawing with the rest of Les Amis for Grantaire's birthday. There was no doubt in Bahorel's mind that the sketchbook must belong to Grantaire, but it called to light a few questions. Grantaire was unbelievably protective of that book,never letting others so much as touch it. So why would he let these strangers keep it? Who were those people and how did they know R? All these questions brought him to one conclusion; demand for the sketchbook back. Crossing the street until he found himself level with the men, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention.   
"Excuse me, but I can't help but notice that book isn't yours. It belongs to a friend of mine and I demand you hand it to me this instant." His voice boomed, like thunder crashing in the skies. The men looked each other nervously. This man was huge, and none of them would stand a chance in a fight against him. The apparent leader held out his arm, extending the book out to Bahorel.  
"Fine, but tell Grantaire that Tholymes misses him. Also to enjoy what we've added to the book.'  
With a sneer thrown at Bahorel, the men moved off, leaving Bahorel confused and ever so slightly on edge. Tucking the sketchbook under his arm, he continued his walk home from the Musain, making a mental note to give R his sketchbook back as soon as possible.   
Sitting on his bed when he arrived home, Bahorel felt drawn to the sketchbook. What could one peak at its contents hurt? 'It would ruin R's trust in you.' And that was enough. Putting the sketchbook in his bag, he allowed himself to lie down on the bed, facing away from his bag. He would give the blasted book to R in the morning, complete with confusing messages from the strange people who had the sketchbook. For now though, sleep was priority.


	5. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of shit goes down as the self defence class kicks off.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the delay. Is school hectic or what?
> 
> As ever, comments would be swell!!

Today marked the first day of the self defence course and Grantaire was a wreck. The had spent the morning hyperventilating in his bathroom, then trying out breathing exercises. None could be said to have 'worked' but he had managed to collect himself enough to make it to the community centre where the self defence course would be taking place. Everyone else was already there, Bahorel and Eponine warming up, while the others waited around for the class to begin. Particularly notable was the matching sweat bands worn by Bossuet and Joly; fluoro green and pink. A fairly large group of men had shown up for the class, most young - university probably. Upon Grantaire's arrival, Enjolras walked over grinning. 

"Isn't it great what we're doing? We can teach them so much! Thank you for showing up today R, I know you didn't want to." 

Grantaire couldn't do much more than nod, before Bahorel had dragged him away to call the class to order. The basic warm ups began, and the rest of Les Amis merged into the class, the matching sweatbands drawing peculiar looks from some members of the crowd. Then the class began for real and Enjolras felt swept away. Each time Grantaire would be asked to give a demonstration of a move, his actions were fluid and for lack of another word, beautiful. Enjolras felt entranced by the elegance and strength behind each of his moves and felt his face go red at such thoughts. He could NOT like R. R had shown no sign of being interested in males before, he was probably straight.  
The class went on for several hours, covering everything from knife defence, to how to punch and kick properly, to how to get out of a hold on the ground. No one had noticed, but when Bahorel had demonstrated the actions, using R as an example, all Grantaire had been thinking about was the last time he had been pinned beneath someone. He had managed to get out of Bahorel's grip and while the class practiced on each other, the thought 'why didn't you just get out of it that night?' spun around his head. The class was exhausted by the time the final exercise had been completed and they were all in a hurry to thank Grantaire, Eponine and Bahorel before hurrying home to shower.  
Enjolras had been avoiding Grantaire since that first thought he had had during the warm ups. He would ignore the problem until it was no longer an issue. He had not been doing a good job of this. He was transfixed by the dark haired man. Surely he was hot in all those clothes? He had been doing exercises for hours, a long shirt and sweatpants couldn't possibly feel good to be in right now. And then the next class would be starting in less than an hour. Brushing away these concerns, he resolutely ignored how Grantaire's smile dropped every time he thought no one was looking at him, or how he would rub his arms through his shirt sleeves, a sign of clear distress. Something was obviously up with his friend, and it was killing him that he didn't know. It was killing him that little bit more now he knew he was beginning to have feelings for the cynic.  
Les Amis didn't get much work done between the classes. Bahorel and Eponine mucked around with various fighting styles together, while Jehan, Marius and Cosette watched along appreciatively. Combeferre was blushing at some no doubt lewd comments that Courfeyrac was whispering in his ear, and the remainder lay around - lamenting the fact they had exercised against their will. Enjolras and Grantaire sat alone. Enjolras was sitting on a crate sorting through notes for the next part of the program. Grantaire sat next to him, trying to act content and comfortable at the topic of everything Enjolras was writing and reading at that time. Their silence was broken when Enjolras muttered to himself "Disgusting."

Grantaire looked up. "What's happened, captain?" Enjolras didn't even come up with a snarky reply, merely shook his head and handed the sheet of paper he had been reading to Grantaire. The sheet was a story of a boy who had been raped. 

"He's only nineteen for Christ's sake! How can someone do that to anyone, but a young boy? It sickens me that some people can get away with something like that. If only more people actually went to the police about these things."

He looked over at Grantaire, waiting for a response but found him staring transfixed at the article about the boy. It was once more Bahorel's shout that broke Grantaire from his trance. The next class was starting. He hadn't even noticed everyone coming into the hall. The class was larger than the previous one, numbering at around fifty. Enjolras would count that as a success.

The lesson passed without incident until the on-the-ground defence. Bahorel had just given his demonstration on Grantaire, once again failing to notice the smaller man flinch beneath him. As everyone split into pairs, one person called out "Excuse me? Yeah, hi! Seems like there are an odd number of people. Care to partner up with me?" It was clearly addressed to Grantaire, as Bahorel and Eponine engaged in assisting other members of the class. Grantaire walks to the direction from which the voice had come from, noticing Enjolras very near to where the voice was, then froze. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a mischievous smile greeted him. The source of the voice. Tholomyes. Grantaire noticed Enjolras and Combeferre looking his way curiously, probably noticing his pale face and faster breathing. Straightening his back, he marched toward Tholomyes. "Can I help you?" He asked, trying to keep his voice professional.

"Well I sure hope so. I need a partner for on the ground activities." Tholomyes replied back, voice like silk. All Grantaire could do was nod jerkily. He could get through this. Nothing much even happened. He had no right to be upset. Besides, it was his fault for not reporting them in the first place. Following an indication from Tholomyes, he lowered himself onto the ground, trembling. He felt sick as the other man sat across his stomach, leaning down to grip his arms above his head. This was too familiar. Grantaire needed this to stop. Right now. He began to struggle, forgetting everything he had taught everyone in the room in his desperation to get away, but Tholomyes held steady. It was only when Tholomyes noticed Bahorel look over at them that he released Grantaire, allowing him to get to his feet. Grantaire ran out of the room, leaving behind a smirking Tholomyes and a confused and concerned Les Amis.

Enjolras ran out almost immediately after Grantaire, panting from class. After several minutes of trying to find Grantaire, he was successful, catching a glimpse of him sitting high up in a tree, gazing off silently. Enjolras struggled, but eventually managed to claw his way up the tree, vaguely resembling a mangy tomcat. Perching next to Grantaire, he reached out cautiously to touch him on the shoulder; an action Grantaire barely even flinched at. 

"What was all that buddy? You alright?"

He normally did not speak like this, but he felt his usual demeanour would hardly be appreciated; he had been told it made him seem less than empathetic. Grantaire tried to speak, but all that came out was a course grunt and a sigh. Then, a jerky nod. 

"You really don't seem fine. Was it that boy? The one you were partnered with?"

Grantaire's eyes widened. Enjolras was getting too close to the truth. He had to step in now.

"Just someone I used to know. Didn't get on well, you know? It's nothing. Why don't you rant at me a while about something that makes you mad or something?"

His attempt at brushing it off was obvious, but Enjolras could see he wouldn't be getting anywhere. With a considerable effort, he put his mind on another track. 

"I know you didn't want us to do this course. I remember when you shouted at me for it, but I think that we're really doing good here. People left these classes today actually knowing something! And it's so important. They'll be able to properly defend themselves!" 

At this, Grantaire couldn't help but snort. At Enjolras's questioning look, he let out a sigh.

"It isn't that simple Enjolras. Some people, no matter how trained, freeze up in dangerous situations. The whole 'fight, flight or freeze' thing. You can't stop instincts like that. Sometimes you just freeze up and can't do anything. Scarier than running away or fighting, that's for sure." 

By the end of this, Grantaire was looking into the distance; the words clearly not meant for Enjolras. And he did not miss the personal tone it had taken.

"Grantaire. R. Did...something like this happen to you?"

At that, Grantaire shook his head vehemently, but tears had already formed in his eyes and glistened in the sunlight as they rolled down his cheeks. Enjolras looked on with more and more dread. That couldn't be what had happened. Surely. Just a glance at Enjolras and R could see he was unconvinced. IT was time to reveal just a bit of the truth then. Avoid suspicion.

"No, of course not! Nothing as big as all that. It was just a fight. Lots of punches and such, but nothing like this."

He gestured to the hall to indicate was 'this' meant. The sweep of his arm made his shirt ride up, and Enjolras could see a glimpse of scar tissue. He pointed automatically at R's stomach and moved forward, grasping the material of the shirt, ready to pull it back up. He looked steadily into R's eyes, asking permission, and R's resolve broke. He didn't care how disgusting he would be thought to be. He needed to do this now. Looking shakily back into Enjolras's eyes, he nodded.

Enjolras lifted the shirt and gaped at the words scrawled across his friend's stomach. "FAG" was printed in big letters, crudely carved into the flesh.


	6. A Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Les Amis are slowly working stuff out. Once more Bahorel is on the case, and so is Enjolras. It's short but the next one will surely be longer. 
> 
> SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED!!!! DEPRESSION AND SCHOOL HAS KEPT ME SO BUSY
> 
> COMMENTS WOULD BE SUPER GREAT, I LOVE YOU ALLLLLLL

Enjolras gazed in horror at the gruesome marks tattooed onto his friend. The scars had raised and ran in white strips against his flesh. 

“Grantaire, come on, we should find somewhere better to sit to discuss this. Let me take you back home, okay?”

If Enjolras was to describe the look in Grantaire’s eyes as he nodded dully, it would have to be described as defeat. He looked like he had lost everything and finally had nothing worse that could come from agreeing to this. Still exhausted from the work out, it took Enjolras several clumsy minutes to get down from the tree, followed by Grantaire who slipped through the tree effortlessly, eyes still glazed over and dull. Enjolras bundled him into his car, casting a glance back at the community center where the self-defense class was still happening. He sent a quick text to the group chat, telling Les Amis that he and Grantaire were going back home because of an emergency. The drive home was noiseless. Enjolras trying to focus on driving but kept picturing the scars scrawled across his friend’s stomach. His question from before he had seen the scars reverberated around his skull.

‘What if something like what our program is about happened to Grantaire?’

It would explain a lot of how he had been acting in recent times. His negative response to people sneaking up on him and touching him. His sudden bitter mood that went against his character completely. How he always seemed to look exhausted and worn down when Enjolras saw him. But…the idea of anything like that happening to Grantaire, his R, was sickening. How could anyone dare do that?

Grantaire meanwhile, had been staring out of the window, trying to keep his breathing steady. His secret was out. ‘Well’, he reflected, ‘almost out’. He had, after all, denied such events when Enjolras asked him about them. Sure, he had confessed to a fight, but that was nowhere near the same level as rape. Grantaire was more than happy to willfully deceive Enjolras into thinking he had picked a fight with some homophobe and had ended up more beaten up than planned. He would not let Enjolras be disappointed in him. He couldn’t tell him it was anything more, or he’s surely die. 

When the pair arrived at Grantaire’s house, it was to no surprise to R that his parents were not there. They settled onto the couch, and Grantaire took a deep breath.

“Look. I know you have this idea in your mind that I had something…bad happen to me. But really, I just got into a fight. There was this guy, real bigot, and he rubbed me up the wrong way, so I clocked him one. Turns out he was a better fighter than I thought, and he beat me.”

“And carved that into your stomach?” 

“Yeah, he also did that. But listen, it isn’t anything major and nothing really bad happened. I’m fine.”

Even as he said those words Enjolras could see the tears gathering in Grantaire’s eyes. Not sure what to do, he reached over and squeezed R’s hand. R, in turn, managed a watery smile back. Enjolras by no stretch wanted to let this topic of conversation drop, but felt he had little choice as his friend looked so vulnerable right now. Grantaire’s insistence that it had been just a fight carried some strength, and Enjolras found himself convinced that it had been physical assault, not sexual. That did not make him feel much better about the issue. Grantaire was still sad and exhausted and barely functioning. He still jumped. Even if it wasn’t sexual, the assault was bad enough to be traumatic to R, so Enjolras refused to believe it was as little of a deal as R pretended it was. Whatever had happened had completely reshaped R’s character. As they curled up together on the couch, Enjolras could still see the tips of the letters on the scar, sticking out from underneath his shirt. 

 

The rest of Les Amis had been alarmed at the sudden disappearance of Grantaire. The text sent from Enjolras soothed them somewhat, but they couldn’t bring their focus back onto the lesson. Wearily, Bahorel dismissed the self-defense class, eying the man who had been partnered with Grantaire suspiciously. He seemed familiar. It took the journey home back to his flat that he remembered that man. He was the one who had been holding Grantaire’s sketchbook, telling him to deliver a message to R. He had yet to deliver the message, or return the notebook.

Knots curled in the pit of his stomach as he opened the sketchbook warily. He smiled faintly at the pictures R had doodled lovingly. Many of the sketches were of Les Amis in various positions. Most were of Enjolras and there were even a few attempts at self-portraits. He reached one page of art that dated back a little over three months ago. Back when Grantaire had been his normal self. The knots in his stomach drew tighter as he felt that whatever was wrong would be revealed to him soon. The art was of random people, at a party by the looks of it. A sketch of a smile, a dress swirling, an odd assortment. Flicking to the next page, he bit his lip to keep a gasp from leaving him. 

Photographs had been glued into the pages, making a gruesome collage. They seemed to establish a sort of timeline of events. The first few shots were of Grantaire at the party, smiling and being introduced to people. The next was of Grantaire slipping out the door and after that was a photo of him sitting at a fence, sketching. The whole tale spun out before him and he stared at the images as he witnessed his friend being chased, his frantic attempts at hiding, then being caught once more. He felt sick looking at what was right in front of him. One image was particularly haunting to him. Grantaire was being held in place by a sea of arms while one man pressed himself to Grantaire’s body. He was wiping tears from Grantaire’s eyes. But Grantaire never cries. In all the time Bahorel had known Grantaire, he had never once seen the man shed a tear. And this vile monster had done this to him. The clear evidence that the man had begun violating Bahorel's beloved friend was even more sickening. 

He wasn’t completely sure what to do with this new information, but one thing he felt certain about. He needed to get this to Enjolras.


	7. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess a lot happens. A lot seems to be happening all the time, so here is more a lot. I reckon even though it hasn't been established but this is all set in Australia. Coz home. BUT Ferre has a southern drawl and yeah that's a thing.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave comments!
> 
> (AND SORRY IT'S SOOOOO LATE I'VE BEEN GOOD BUT EXHAUSTED)

Grantaire looked so small when he was asleep. This thought washed over Enjolras’s mind as he gazed down at the now sleeping form of his friend, curled against his chest. The pain and weariness seemed to ebb as he slept, leaving behind the childlike R that Enjolras remembered from before the attack. He hoped he’d be able to get that boy back. Feeling almost embarrassed at the thought, Enjolras had to admit to himself that he missed that R. Carefree and vibrant and idealistic. He remembered in high school when the two had stood side by side, the rest of the group laughing about how they were nearly competitive in their idealism. He wished those days would come back.

A knock came at the door and Enjolras carefully slipped away from his resting friend to creep towards the door. A sick looking Bahorel greeted him. Without waiting for an invitation, Bahorel barrelled through the doorway and into the room R was asleep in. Noticing R, the hulking man tried to calm himself, and beckoned for Enjolras to follow him out of the room. Confused and nervous, Enjolras did so.

“Enjolras I have something important to show you. About what happened to R.”

A silence fell over the pair, and Enjolras felt the static in the air, felt his hairs stand up on end. This was it. This could be the answer to what was truly wrong with his friend. But did he really want the answer? He felt he did, but also that he would not like the answer to any degree. 

“Okay. Yeah, show me.” 

He tried to sound calm, but the underlying agitation cut through the attempt. 

Bahorel pulled a notebook out of his backpack. R’s art book. The present from Les Amis. 

“Bahorel, what has this got to do with –“

His own shock cut the sentence off mid-way.

Bahorel had opened the art book to a spread of photos. Photos of Grantaire. Sickening photos of Grantaire. He looked through them; the ones of R fake smiling while being introduced to guests at a party, R looking confused as he talks to a young man, R running frantically, R being pinned between two men, the first man – the blond one – licking R. R crying. R being cut. R being groped. 

So his initial suspicions had been right. It was sexual violence, not only physical. Bahorel was standing rigid, looking dully at the photo of R crying. Enjolras was drawn to the image of Grantaire lying prone while the word ‘FAG’ was carved in his chest. He wanted to gag as he looked at the blood and the look of sheer terror on his friend’s face. Like he was frightened for his life. He probably was. 

“What – what do we do?” Bahorel whispered unsteadily.

Enjolras wished he knew, but also knew his friend was depending on him here. He was the leader, he had to make the tough call.

“We let Grantaire know.”

And so they did. They walked back out into the lounge and Enjolras gently shook Grantaire awake. Sitting down beside him, he tried to recount what had just happened to Grantaire in the softest way imaginable. As soon as the words were out of his mouth however, R blanched and began to shake.

“I-I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t…I wasn’t going to tell people…I’m sorry.”

R was rambling now. His mind chattered with panicked calls. Enjolras knew. He would hate him now. He would never love him. And Bahorel. He needed a force like Bahorel in his life, and didn’t know how to accept his inevitable disappearance after this discovery.

“R, if it’s alright, can we please hug you?” Bahorel interrupted R’s frantic thoughts. Without letting his brain talk him out of it, his face crumpled and he nodded. Enjolras and Bahorel settled on either side of Grantaire and tucked him between them with ease. 

“R we will make sure this will never happen to you again. We’re so sorry we weren’t here for you before now. We’ll keep you safe, okay?”

R tearfully nodded against their chests. 

“I know this is a lot R, but do you think the rest of Les Amis should know? You know they’d never judge you for this right? We could have a movie night for you if you wanted.”

Once more, Grantaire overruled his brain and just nodded. He let Enjolras extricate himself from their cuddle pile and call and text the rest of Les Amis to make the arrangements. In less than half an hour all of them were piled into the cramped room, looking at R with concern.

“So, uh…I guess I need to tell you all something. I – well you see, I had something happen to me. I – I suppose it was quite bad and it has changed me a bit. Which I guess you all have noticed. I was at this party see. Not even like a cool party. Like a mostly parents party. Friend of a friend. And these guys – they ambushed me. Sorta chased me around you know? It was scary but not like, they’re gonnna fuck me up real bad scary. But then like they catch me and they are all in this circle around me and ugh – “ 

R shuddered and clenched his eyes shut. Combeferre has crossed the room and has taken over the piece of carpet on the floor in front of R, and is resting his head on his lap. R smiled softly at the gesture of comfort.  
“They were all in a circle around me and the main guy, Tholomyes, was in the middle of the circle with me. And like they’re all grabbing at me and there were hands…just everywhere. Touching all over me. And they’re all saying shit too. Really weird shit I’d normally be able to laugh off. You know like ‘God I just wanna lick you’ and ‘that mouth just needs to be used’. But like that isn’t really scary when you know it won’t happen. But surrounded by them – it was you know, scary. But then uh, Tholomyes licked my face and there were these two guys that got right up against me. I tried to get away coz l didn’t want it, okay? I really didn’t want it! But then like they c-cut me and kept going. They didn’t end up doing much more than some feeling up and grinding before everyone was called back into the party venue. I’m sorry I’ve been making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

Combeferre hushed him gently as R’s eyes began to well with tears. 

“Dear, you have not made a big deal out of nothing. We’re your friends and we all love you and will always be here for you. I’m so sorry this happened to you, and I know if I was in your place I would be reacting worse than you. That would’ve been terrifying and you shouldn’t have been put through it. Understand?”

Les Amis often remarked how Combeferre’s southern drawl brought them comfort and warmth, and R felt he was proof of that now. He buried his fingers in Ferre’s messy curls and smiled faintly. The rest of Les Amis, nodding in agreement with Ferre, all crowded in and nestled in a pile, everyone in some way touching R .And for the first time since the attack, R did not mind being touched.


End file.
